


Upon Waking

by sori



Category: NCIS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-05
Updated: 2005-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sori/pseuds/sori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon waking, it’s always the warm body that he notices first. The tickle of hair along his legs and arms, hard lines and no soft curves, man breath, slightly stale, a little bitter but real in all the ways that counted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon Waking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an NCIS ficathon with the prompt: "It's no secret that to some degree they're gonna have to see you sweat/Strong enough for a man just do what you can to keep me soft and dry" (Jason Mraz). Thanks to audra for beta duties!

Upon waking, it’s always the warm body that he notices first. The tickle of hair along his legs and arms, hard lines and no soft curves, man breath, slightly stale, a little bitter but real in all the ways that counted. He always knew that if he turned just a little, more onto his back, less onto his front, he could open his eyes and see the dark lashes and the messed up hair, the broad chest and the muscled arm. He could see Tony.

It was a tradition of sorts, at least for him, to wake up and spend a few moments just lying in bed. So many years of waking up and pushing out of cold sleeping bags, into boots only half-dry and greeting mornings that weren’t yet light had taught him to enjoy the small comforts: warm blankets, good pillow, a coffee pot down the hall. Taught him to appreciate big bodies sprawled out next to him that he couldn’t possibly have fit inside a sleeping bag with.

Some mornings he’d only wait a second, a minute, just a short blur of time until coffee started calling him and real life started beckoning. It’d be those mornings that he would push himself out of bed, press a quick, soft kiss onto Tony’s lips - although he would deny ever doing this - before heading to the showers. Quick shower, quicker shave and he’d be standing in front of the coffee pot in his boxers and white undershirt watching the coffee perk and thinking of the latest case. He loved those kinds of mornings. Normal, when so much of is life had been anything but normal.

Other mornings he’d wake up and he’d open his eyes and just watch. He’d wait and see the light start shining in through the blinds, listen to the traffic pick up and sometimes, if the wind was right and the city was quiet enough, he imagined that he could hear reveille from the surrounding bases. That was always nice. Typical, comforting, since much of his life he had involved the sound of bugles and the pounding of boots.

This morning was different. He awoke to the feel of warm lips and cool hands on his face, in his hair, on his chest. Fingers pulling and pushing, demanding and soothing, reminding Gibbs that he wasn’t alone, that it wasn’t just a warm bodying sharing his bed. It was Tony.

Tony mumbled words against Gibbs’ neck, maybe good morning or maybe some random words that Tony would never say to Gibbs in the light of day. The feel of the lips, moving along skin, flecks of tongue sent shivers down Gibbs back. He moaned a little, soft and low and that made Tony chuckle.

Tony pushed Gibbs over, pulling and yanking, not gentle, because mornings weren’t for gentle and slow. There was work and breakfast and a whole day ahead of them and the day wasn’t going to wait. His lips on Gibbs were demanding, taking, not waiting for a response.

Gibbs felt Tony roll onto his chest, a heavy weight and even through the fog of just-woken-up, it felt good, so good and it made Gibbs reach and wrap his arms around Tony’s back, digging his fingers into ass muscles and pulling Tony closer. His mouth opened and he sucked in Tony’s tongue, rhythmic, hard, letting his hips start to move, letting Tony feel his dick hard against his stomach. The kiss was all tongue and spit and nothing gentle; it was all need – raw and limitless.

Tony moaned into his mouth and thrust his body down. He wound his fingers through Gibbs’ hair, pulling, tugging, putting Gibbs mouth just there, right there, where he could turn his head and bite a little, suck a little, drive Gibbs mad a little. Their bodies were moving now, instinctively, thrusting and pushing and their boxers were the only thing separating them. Skin on skin, beard stubble scraping, sounds of kissing and lips and thrusting bodies and – _fuck_ – Gibbs remembered why he loved mornings.

He pushed with his legs, rolling Tony over onto his back and settling his body on top. He grabbed Tony’s legs and lifted them, and Tony understood and wrapped his legs around Gibbs’ hips, holding tight. Gibbs pushed up and looked down, watching Tony watch him, eyes open and glazed, not really seeing anything. Gibbs smile and ground his hips down, letting their dicks rub together through the cotton.

Tony moaned and pulled Gibbs down hard, until Gibbs collapsed down on Tony’s body and Tony’s mouth could reach his lips, his neck, his face. Frantic and wild, and Tony’s body was moving hard, bucking up and Gibbs was having trouble staying on top, staying in control. Their boxers were moving, sliding against skin and fabric and somehow, and how the hell does Tony manage to do these things Gibbs doesn’t know, but their cocks were poking out of the flies and finding a way together.

“Fuck, Tony,” Gibbs almost doesn’t recognize is own voice, throaty and deep, almost a growl and Tony’s only response is to move his hands down, grabbing Gibbs ass and pulling. Tony’s not letting go of his mouth and it’s short, hard stabs inside with his tongue and Gibbs can’t really breath, can’t really think of anything except this and now and coming.

It’s the rhythm, all wrong, not smooth enough, not regular enough and Gibbs wants it different. He reaches back and grabs Tony’s hands and pulls them up, up, up, over their heads and holds them down onto the bed. Tony moans but doesn’t struggle and Gibbs thrusts down harder, faster.

His eyes are open and he watches as sweats pools in Tony’s neck, dripping down his face, along his body and it’s making things slick. Both of then are breathing hard, panting and Gibbs doesn’t know who’s moaning, who’s groaning, just that this feels perfect. Tony starts to fight against the hands holding him down and after a second, Gibbs lets go and Tony’s arms wrap around him, destroying the rhythm but in just the right way. He buries his face in Tony’s neck, letting his tongue taste the sweat, salty and bitter and it’s just: perfect, strange, messy.

“Gibbs, Gibbs…” and Tony is chanting his name so he must be close. Tony never talks during sex, he just makes sounds, guttural and almost obscene, and it drives Gibbs faster because, _oh God_ , so close…

Tony shudders under him and he feels the wetness of Tony’s come and that’s it, no more control, Gibbs thrusts down hard, once, twice and again one last time before he’s coming. Arms wrapped around him, holding him tight, letting him ride out the orgasm with his body still shuddering. Their boxers are soaked with sweat and come, their breathing hard and he imagines that he can feels Tony’s heart pounding through their pressed together chests.

When Tony starts to chuckle Gibbs rolls off and looks over at him; sweaty and slick and looking so pleased with himself that Gibbs can’t help chuckling back.

Mornings like this are definitely his favorite.


End file.
